ANToT: The Tragic Youth Where It All Began
by Everybody'sGrudge
Summary: The origin of a new class of trainer, and the violent tragedies that led one young man to set out on a dark path of justice. Rating for some strong language and violence.


_**Disclaimer & Discussion: **__First off, I obviously do not own Pokémon, in any of the myriad forms of media in which it exists. I am not making any money off of this work, and thus there is no reason to sue me. All credit to Game Freak, Nintendo, Ken Sugimori, and so on for their characters, designs, storylines, production work, and so on. Further credit to the mighty RedChocobo, who's LP's of Emerald, Crystal, and FireRed and the artwork that accompanies them are among the top inspirations I have for this story. Red, if you should happen to read this, do know that you are welcome to say mean things to me despite my failure to request art from you. I'd consider it fair enough for all the laughs you've given me._

_So, that's the disclaimers, now for the discussion. This is only the first part of a potentially larger work. I've never written a Pokémon fic before, and while I like the ideas presented here I am not sure if I will continue it. So, I figured I'd invite reviews and such here, so that I know if following up on this is worth my time. _

_The story is set in the game world, rather than the anime or any of the various mangas. I should note that the anime actually exists in the world the story takes place in, however, and is viewed therein as a kids show. It was potentially based on a cartoonified version of Red's journey in Kanto (perhaps they pay him likeness rights for Ash, who knows?). For fans of the anime, the main character of this story doesn't seem to have a very high opinion of the show, don't take it personally. While it is intended to take place in the world of the games, there will be some mild differences. For one, battles will be less static overall than in the game, since gameplay/story segregation is clearly in place with regards to turn based battles. HP does exist in the story as a means of measuring a Mon's health, as devised by the Poképrofs, but will only rarely be referred to in any way. Levels may or may not exist, I have yet to decide, but as with HP they will not normally be referenced directly. If you see the words "high/low level Pokémon" just assume they are being used in a general way to describe Pokémon that are considered well/poorly trained for their species, rather than asking for an exact numerical level._

_Finally, another of my inspirations was the Pokémon Special/Adventures (or whatever title you might know it by) manga, specifically it's more violent and, in my opinion, realistic depiction of battling. For those who don't know it, in this manga trainers are often targeted for attacks by Pokémon or end up fighting each other directly even as the Pokémon battle. The attacks used in battle are also more graphic, in one issue an Arbok is cut completely in two just below the head. This sort of thing, and worse, can be expected in my story (though few actual battle descriptions will be provided in this one) which is why it features its current rating (well that and language in places) so be aware._

_Edit: Made some corrections to the story, particularly in places where I had somehow mixed up gender specific pronouns, and a few instances where my use of Find/Replace to fix the spelling of the "Poké" syllable to include the é without realizing that would screw up words like "spoken" as a side effect._

_With that, I give you..._

A New Type of Trainer:

The Tragic Youth Where It Began

Who am I, you ask? Sorry friend, but I don't just hand my name off, not to anyone. Not for a long time now. But, people have to call me something, and eventually a number of nicknames made their way into circulation. The one I prefer and encourage is Devil. I even had it printed on my business cards. It's a good enough name, it provides the image I want. Almost accurate too, I do live a dark life these days after falling from innocence. But it wasn't Pride that led to my fall. Let's talk about that shall we?

I was born in the Hoenn region, in a small hospital in Petalburg city. My father was a rancher, raising Tauros and Miltank outside of town. He was also a member of Petalburg Gym, which was then and still is led by a man named Norman, a specialist of Normal-type Pokémon. My old man chose to train there for more than simple proximity, his herds were Normal-types. So too were the Pokémon that helped him to care for them, his Sentret, Zigzagoon, and Persian were always in the field with him to watch for predators or fight them off (though being a rancher he did also have a Rapidash for riding), and to herd the often uncooperative Tauros.

My birth was a difficult one, if not for father's friendship with Norman it is possible neither mother nor I might have survived. Though he doesn't use her for battle, Norman keeps a Chansey named Nurse Joy around to assist with emergency healing, having named her after one of the goofy characters in that one cartoon on Jubilfe TV to keep kids calm and laughing when he introduces them to Pokémon for the first time. Or at least he had her back then, I haven't seen Norman in years, and honestly we didn't part on very good terms last time. But I digress.

The difficulty started for my mother when she was eight months pregnant. At the time, she was bringing my father dinner in the fields. A pack of Poochyena had always lived nearby but were, as wild Poochyena often are, rather cowardly. His team was able to scare them away rather easily, hell the Tauros themselves were more than able to terrify them if push came to shove. However, earlier in the month one of the females had evolved, and assumed status as the pack's new alpha. With her increased strength and strategy, the pack had become much more daring. She gave them courage, and suddenly the herds weren't safe at night for the first time in years. Or so they tell me, I was still in the womb and never saw a single member of that pack.

No, the Mightyena and her gang had yet to show themselves the day I was born. Instead, my mother stumbled upon a wild Aggron. A very, very angry Aggron. Aggron are extremely rare in the wild, and pretty near unheard of around Petalburg. The steel hard beasts don't even appear in any wildlife guides for the region. By comparison, even Pokémon that appear only one time out of a thousand Pokémon attacks will still be listed. The Aggron was never caught, but based on the scarce appearances of that species in the wild together with its aggressive behavior, it's always been suspected that it was released nearby by an abusive trainer. The creature was charging at my mother, its posture suggesting it intended to hit her with a take down, when my father heard her scream.

He arrived in time to prevent it from striking, which should be obvious since I exist to tell this story. An Aggron is more than strong enough to send a fully loaded flatbed truck flying, or turn a human target to jelly and splintered bone. And they are of the Steel/Rock dual-type, which means they're tough as coffin nails. Fortunately for mom, dad believed in training diverse moves into his Pokémon. His Zigzagoon had been taught the Surf technique, and at his command lashed out at the charging beast with a crashing wave that knocked it aside and deterred it from attacking further. Unfortunately, the shock and strain was too much for my mother. Even as it fled back the way it had come, her water broke right there in the pasture.

Life was pretty normal once the whole "nearly dying due to being premature and being born in a highly stressful delivery" thing was over with. I owe that Chansey a lot, stupid cartoon name or no. Dad didn't let me out in the pasture to help with the herds as a kid. He never seemed to enjoy his work the way mom said he did before I was born, he was scarred by what almost happened that day. I wound up working mostly with my mom in her garden instead, watering and weeding and bringing in the berry harvests. It was a peaceful life. But the world is a dangerous place. I was only seven years old when I learned what the day of my birth had taught my parents.

You see, dad had always tried to live as peacefully as possible with the wild Pokémon around our little homestead. He refused to catch new Pokémon, relying entirely on his team of three, which were in turn the offspring of his own father's Pokémon. He would never finish a Pokémon off if he had to battle it, always instructing his Pokémon to fight until the opponent fled or was knocked out and could be relocated the hard way. Thus, seven years after he had spent so much time watching his herd at night, the local pack was still around. He'd even named the alpha, since they were so familiar with each other. He called her Split Snout, due to a large scar on her muzzle. Despite his desire to keep mom and me away from the fields, he was no more concerned for himself than he ever had been. In fact, since he had finished the barn and thus kept the cattle fairly safe at night, he might have been _more_ relaxed, so long as mom and I were safe. Right up to the day the rest of Split Snout's pack evolved during the chaotic and stressful times caused by the Kyogre/Groudon incident.

It was, of course, a closed casket funeral. A pack of ten Mightyena can do awful things to their prey, not to mention a brand new litter of infant Poochyenas. Right after the funeral I broke away from my mother and ran to the gym. I screamed at Norman for not doing anything about the pack when he knew they were nearby. I cried as I did, but I forced my voice to be clear. It was, I think, the first time I used an obscenity in the company of an adult. I cried for dad's Pokémon too. Twilight, his beloved Persian, was the only one to survive, and he was crippled defending his master. Despite having a reputation for his quick temper, Norman accepted the abuse calmly. He'd seen people in my situation before. He didn't lecture me about his responsibility as a gym leader, or about how the Mightyena and Poochyena had every bit as much right to the land as we did. Nor about how he had trained with my father in part to help him prevent such tragedy from occurring at all. He just let me wind down as I spilled my hurt at him... and gave me a sad smile and a pat on the back before I stumbled home.

We left Twilight with Norman and moved away to Verdanturf Town. Neither of us could handle the sight of my father's favorite Pokémon, scarred and miserable, nor the proud herds he'd spent so long raising and protecting. They had been our livelihood once, but now they were so much salt in fresh wounds. We sold the Tauros and Miltank along with the land and moved on. Verdanturf was new ground, fertile and well suited to my mother's green thumb. She spread out from growing just berries to farming other foodstuffs and medicinal herbs, which were sold on our behalf at the local PokéMart. We weren't quite so well off as we had been before, but neither were we dirt poor. And it was a gentle life. There was no gym to attract battlers to our new home, instead there was an official Contest Hall, specializing in Normal Rank Contests. We saw a great many coordinators, trainers who trained their Pokémon to be cute, or smart, or beautiful rather than strong. True, many of them were plenty strong as well, especially those raised to compete in the Tough Contests, but aside from occasional appearances by the travelling BattleTent attractions violence rarely came to Verdanturf.

The lack of violence was good for me especially, I'd always been a small kid, and I didn't have a Pokémon of my own to stand up for me. I was also a weak child, presumably due to the circumstances of my birth. I had never quite recovered from that hardship. But Verdanturf is a special place. The weak and sickly who travel there often find that they grow stronger, their illness passing. Children with asthma and other such conditions are quite frequently sent there for a time, which may have something to do with the gentle nature of the people there and the general lack of Pokémon battles. Or, perhaps it's the other way around, who can tell? At any rate, by age ten, the three years I had spent in Verdanturf Town had done a great deal of good for me. I had filled out to average size, catching up with my peers, and my weakness was slowly replaced with strength... strength by the standards of ten year olds at least. And at that time, lacking any close friends, I felt strong enough to want a Pokémon of my own.

When I asked mom, she decided she wanted me to follow in her footsteps, regarding my first Pokémon. Not to say she wanted my first to be the same as her own, rather she decided to take me on a trip to Littleroot Town, a fair distance to the south. Although the Rusturf Tunnel had been completed a few years prior, the same year my father died in fact, we took the long way around. Mom wanted to show me the region she journeyed through as a child, or so she said. As I got older I began to suspect she just wanted to avoid the tunnel full of screaming Whismur, even if it meant doing things the hard way. It was a tough trip, but with the help of Warts, her aged but still spry Swampert, we were able to make good time. Although he was much more used to using his Water/Ground typing and gentle variants of the moves he'd been taught to help with tending the gardens, it didn't take him long to get back into the swing of driving off wild Pokémon and overzealous trainers alike. Had he been with mom the day I was born, that Aggron would never have been a problem for her.

We were fortunate enough to arrive at the region's most well known Pokémon lab at just the right time. Professor Cyprus, the Pokémon Professor who had long ago bequeathed Warts to my mother, had long since retired from active research, with his top student Professor Birch having taken up the mantle of studying Hoenn's Pokémon species in his place. Thus, it was the Birch Pokémon Lab to which we arrived early in the morning, before any other hopeful children, even those who lived in Littleroot, could take first dibs on the Pokémon.

Oh, how hard it is for many people to understand what it's like to stand in a lab, choosing a starter. A great many people in this world get their first Pokémon in the wild, usually with help from a local gym leader or a relative. It's common for a kid who wants to be a trainer to just start chucking balls at the first available mon they see. Others, like my father, inherit their Pokémon from their own family and thus get little choice. But if you're one of the lucky few who gets a chance to go to a licensed Pokémon lab, to receive one of your region's officially recognized starter Pokémon? It can be so hard to choose that it's no surprise there are trainers in this world who claim a person's choice of starter can tell you exactly what sort of person they are. There were two other kids, friendly rivals by the sound of them, waiting their turn. I listened as they impatiently fidgeted and argued over who would get each Pokémon as I stared at the display showing what was in each Pokéball.

I knew at once I did not want the Mudkip. Although mom had told me stories about how playful and calm the little blue amphibians normally are, I knew from experience that Swampert, their evolved final form, was highly territorial and could be quite aggressive. Warts absolutely loved to battle, and mom said he had been known to fight and bully her other Pokémon when they were freshly caught, if she didn't reign him in. I didn't want that, I wanted a friend and playmate. Had I known that a Pokémon's evolution could be canceled out if the trainer wishes, I might have chosen the tiny water-type anyway, but I was largely ignorant about Pokémon at the time. I considered the Torchic, but in the end I decided to take the Treecko. Don't look at me like that. I already admitted I was a dumbass where Pokémon are concerned when I was ten, and I had no idea at the time that Treecko evolves into one of the most viciously territorial Pokémon known to man back then. As far as I was concerned it was just a cute, happy little lizard with a leaf-like tail. I named her Palmette, and we were friends by the end of the day, thanks in part to the Soothe Bell my mom gave me for my birthday.

Now, what would you expect a ten year old boy to do soon after he gets his very first Pokémon? Or a lot of ten year old girls, for that matter. Think back, what did you do right off the bat when you got your very first Pokémon? Yeah, I went out and found another trainer to pick a fight with. It's just what most of us do, isn't it, even as I was then. Now, this might seem off topic but stay with me, have you ever noticed Poképrofs tend to set up their labs in small, backwoods towns? Littleroot Town in Hoenn, New Bark Town in Johto, and so on? Well, there are reasons for that, including the fact that Pokémon near those towns tend to be rather weak and easy to study, as compared to elsewhere in the world. On the same note, each of the most famous professors from each region has enlisted the help of a local youth in their ongoing quest to catalog every species of Pokémon in their region, and many of these children have had very successful careers as Pokémon trainers, with the best becoming Champion of their regional Pokémon Leagues. That too is tied to their being from these backwoods parts of the world, chock full of weak Pokémon. They get to ease into their training. It builds confidence, and as they journey about catching Pokémon or collecting gym badges or both, they work their way up to true strength ridiculously fast. And that became a problem for me, because as it turns out serious trainers aiming to claim the Championship for themselves have started to emulate those kids. Even those who did not receive their first Pokémon from the Poképrofs now sometimes journey to places like Littleroot or Pallette Town, and travel from there trying to get a boost. Of course, this messes things up for any kids from that town, it throws the whole process as their predecessors found it totally out of whack. This mindset is why in the modern day one may find Ace Trainers with highly trained Pokémon battling Rattatas or Zigzagoon so weak they can be dealt with by a boot to the head, they do not understand why it worked so well for kids like the world-famous Ex-Champions Red and Blue, they just know that it did work. And that's the sort of trainer I mistakenly picked my first battle with.

Imagine if you will, that you've just received your first Pokémon as a kid. The local wildlife is pitifully weak, and you have an official starter, so your mom sends you out to play with your new friend while she stays to discuss her elderly starter with the Professor. You walk around town for a bit, listen to the other two kids who got starters fight over whether the Mudkip or Torchic is better, and how they wanted what the other got, and get a laugh out of it. And then you see a man decked out in Pokémon League themed clothes, bouncing a Pokéball in his hand, and think to yourself "Why not, it's not like the Pokémon get hurt! On TV they just fight till one is clearly proven stronger and all ends in smiles, right? ... Right?"

This was not like TV. It was not like the matches Ash usually fought in the cartoon, with beaten Pokémon just going all swirly eyed. Nor was it like the televised exhibition matches fought by real Pokémon. Palmette was already out of her Pokéball walking by my side, and I urged her forward to challenge this man. I was so focused on doing well in my very first Pokémon battle, I didn't even notice at first how he grinned so wickedly when he saw my newly acquired, untrained Treecko. And then he threw his Pokéball, and I found myself facing down a Rapidash. Even as stupid as I was regarding the wide world of Pokémon in the old days, I did know sending a weak Grass-type to fight a well trained Fire-type was a losing proposition. I did not, however, know how goddamned _bad_ a losing proposition it is. My little Treecko knew how to pound, and how to leer. She didn't get a chance to use either technique. Even as it emerged from its Pokéball, the trainer ordered his fiery horse to stomp Palmette. Moments later she was lying on the ground, deep grooves carved into her back where hard hooves had crushed her to the ground. I was shocked... that was so unapologetically violent and sudden it took my breath. And seemingly just for the hell of it, I heard my Ace Trainer opponent shout "Rapidash, show this kid your Fire Blast technique!"

It shouldn't have surprised me. The story of how I was born. The day my dad died. Some of the battles I had w_atched_ my mom fight to get us to Littleroot. All of these things should have prepared me, should have taught me that the world is cruel and many people in it tend to follow suit. It shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. The ferocity of it was staggering. He could easily have killed my Treecko, who couldn't have been hatched from her egg for more than two weeks at most, and from the look on his face he wouldn't have cared. The moment the burst of flame died down, he simply walked over, demanded his payout, and left with half my allowance, smirking all the while. I looked at Palmete, singed and bleeding, her leafy tail flaking away into ash from the flames, and as I remembered that there was no Pokémon center or PokéMart in Littleroot, I cradled her in my arms and cried, afraid even to move her until mom showed up.

I didn't battle anyone again for six years. I didn't even pit Palmette against any wild Pokémon to toughen her up. It chafed her somewhat, and I came to realize it over time. Despite the trauma of that first battle, I came to love reading and studying what I could of Pokémon, and it became clear to me that Palmette's occasional spats of moody anger were due to her nature, Treecko desire to grow stronger and evolve into Grovyle and Sceptile, the better to protect their territory and their family. And a kind trainer is family to his or her Pokémon. But despite this, I couldn't bring myself to put her at risk of injury to train her. I used one of mom's old HM's to teach her the Cut technique, which made her a tiny bit happier, and she eventually joined Warts in assisting with the gardening, cutting weeds and harvesting the product. She became quite good at the technique itself, but without anything to try her strength on, she still didn't get stronger. But we were still happy together.

At this point I was 16, and no longer small or weak. Gentle, careful, and often mistaken for weak because of it, but I had improved greatly from a physical standpoint. I still lacked any close friends around town, knowing only passing acquaintances. But I was happy, even if I had begun to find the act of gardening with mom boring. Verdanturf itself, it seemed, was beginning to feel too small for me. There wasn't enough in it. I considered leaving on a journey... but leaving my safe haven meant running into wild Pokémon, being challenged by trainers. I couldn't do it. I considered studying, perhaps becoming the apprentice of Professor Birch who gave me my dear little Treecko... but that too would mean travel. It would mean doing field work for Birch, in all likelihood. And that would mean battling. The very idea of ever seeing Palmette hurt like that again twisted my stomach. She could easily have died, had mom not found me and taken her to Prof. Birch. I wished for a way to break out of the cycle of boredom, a path to a new place, a new goal of some sort. Perhaps Jirachi overheard my wishes and chose to grant them. If so, I aim to kick it in the teeth for how my wish was granted, even if I have to wait 1,000 years for it to wake up first.

Ever since the invention of the Pokéball in Johto, Pokémon have all but replaced the weapons we humans once used. Why use a crude sword made by slapping a handle to shed Skarmory feathers when you can sic the Skarmory itself on your enemy? Why use a bow and arrows to hunt Stantler to make venison stew when you can simply press a button on a ball and tell the Persian that emerges to bring you the meat? For a time, firearms and explosives were in rapid development, but what point do they serve, to civilian or soldier, when a Cacturne can fire needles with enough force to pierce the best armor, and Graveller can blast its foes by causing its outer layer to _explode_? Weapons development went to hell pretty quick after someone rigged a hollow apricorn to make the first Pokéball, though a few people do keep their hand in to fight for themselves now and then. And of course, when Pokémon replaced weapons in the military and police, they quickly replaced weapons for criminals as well.

Team Rocket in Kanto and Johto, the Pokémon Gangsters. Teams Magma and Aqua of Hoenn, Pokémon Eco-Terrorists. Team Galactic of Sinnoh, apparently some sort of Pokémon Cult, if the news is to be believed. Team Cipher of Orre... I never did get a clear idea of what exactly their organization's goal was supposed to be, world domination or something. Far as I know, they were just fucking evil. All these teams, those who believe they have good intentions and those who were honest about their evil, have been broken up, embarrassingly most of them by children on Pokédex quests. But when a criminal organization breaks down, its members don't just evaporate. Team Rocket tried to put themselves back in business a few years after their initial defeat, though without their boss they didn't manage to do much more than cutting off some Slowpoke tails and piss off a few Magikarp to make Gyrados... though to be fair that last one is somewhat terrifying if you lack an Electric-type of your own. Team Galactic also appeared under new leadership after their boss disappeared, if only briefly. And if their crew isn't loyal to the group itself and thus doesn't get back together or refuse to break up? They still don't just up and decide to stop being criminals at the drop of a hat. Or at least, not all of them do. Many of them go into business for themselves, or in smaller, unnamed groups. Small time compared to the region-wide threat they once posed, but still a threat. Like so many things in the story of my early years, I had to learn all this the hard way.

It was a sunny day, and the weeding was finished early and easily as it often had been with the four of us, two humans and two Pokémon, to do the work. Palmette and I were bored, so we headed out to a vacant field behind the Contest Hall. We'd developed a game that seemed to make her feel better about the lack of battle in her life. I'd take small objects like fallen tree branches or fruits and toss them in the air, at which point she would charge out and use her Cut technique before they touched the ground, then bring me the severed pieces to show just how cleanly she had sliced through them with a look of smug satisfaction on her face. I was proud of her, I just knew had I ever trained her properly she'd have become a terror to any who stood against her. But, six years of our quiet life had blunted the little one's expectations. Like me, she had grown complacent, so much so that slicing through falling apples and sticks was enough to keep her happy with her "battle prowess." She was in mid-stride, running forward to cut down her latest target, when a stranger's voice called out behind me.

"Look at this guys, who'd have thought to find a Pokémon that actually wants to fight here of all places?" asked a man with a deep voice. I turned, surprised at the sound, to behold an odd mishmash of trainers coming my way. One was dressed like a sailor or pirate, with a bright blue bandanna marked with the letter A. Another, this one a woman, was wearing an entirely black uniform consisting of a sweater, miniskirt, and a beret, the sweater marked with a blood red R over the swell of her breasts. And leading them on was the deep voiced man I had heard, smiling with suppressed mirth from behind a strange helmet and visor, dressed in a mismatched batch of differently colored metal plates that formed high tech armor. I had seen the uniforms of Team Rocket and Team Aqua before, on television and in the newspaper. After all, Team Aqua did their work right in my homeland of Hoenn, and Kanto, birthplace of the Rockets, isn't terribly far away. But their leader was new to me, and would have been confusing to look upon even had I seen a Cipher agent before that day since it had been cobbled together from pieces of other sets. The fall of Cipher was seemingly quite hard on their Peons.

"Well well well, one of Hoenn's starters, in the hands of an unworthy child. I should have that Treecko, in my hands it wouldn't waste its life here in this backwoods cutting useless objects!" the female Rocket responded to her leader. She was beautiful, save for an old, fading scar on her left cheek that looked like a burn. "And I have been wanting a new Grass-Type, ever since that little brat back home beat me and the police took my Gloom away," she said, already striding forward.

"Now you wait just a damn minute!" the ex-Aqua Grunt snarled. "I could damn well use a Treecko too, even if it's not a Water-Type. Lemme at it, and we'll just see who can use it better!" he continued to go on, a hand dropping to the Pokéballs clipped to his belt. The Rocket scoffed, seeming unimpressed.

"You two shut it!" snapped their leader. While his voice cracked like a whip, it didn't seem to be based in anger, just annoyance with the two bickering. It seemed familiar to the whole lot of them, they must've been working together in their little gang for a while by the time the met me. The other two quieted down and looked over at their leader, though their hands stayed near their Pokéballs, ready to throw. "Getting that Pokémon isn't going to be as easy as you two think, not since the last Snag Machine I brought over from Orre broke down. It's got a trainer, normal balls can't touch it. Unless of course this kid is smart enough to just hand it over," he said, a dark menace entering his eyes.

"Palmette, get back in the Pokéball," I hissed, afraid. I'd rather fight them myself than let her get hurt, though of course I intended to run like hell the moment I had her safe and sound in my pocket again. Energy crackled as Palmette returned to her ball, annoyed once more at not being allowed to battle, unaware of the real danger we were in. The criminals were unamused. "Leave her alone. She's my Pokémon, go and catch your own!" I shouted, trying to edge back towards town. Mom might be able to handle these goons, even in his old age Warts was powerful.

"Well see kid, that's a problem," the leader said, selecting a Pokéball by touch and unclipping it from a rack of four on his armor. "We were never much good at catching wild Pokémon, never got enough practice. Hell, there are hardly any wild Pokémon _to_ catch back home in Orre. We steal them. And hey, even if we wanted to do it that way, where do you find a wild Treecko? They been distributing them as starters for so long, whatever place they called home is probably just about empty. So... give us yours and we won't have to show you what we've already stolen boy. Make it easy on everyone... well, everyone except your Pokémon anyway," he finished, and actually chuckled at the statement he'd made. I didn't wait for him to finish, I turned and took off at a dead sprint. It wasn't far back to my own house, or even anyone else's. I was sure I'd be able to escape.

That certainty fled almost at once when a blue and red blur suddenly flashed past me, and I skidded to a halt just in time to keep from running face first into a Garchomp. The draconic Pokémon looked down at me with hungry eyes and let out a cry that hurt my ears, a hint of the blue flames that make up the Dragon Rage technique leaking between its sharp fangs. I recognized it at once, my desire to study Pokémon had recently been largely focused on Dragon-types. Even assuming I could outrun the three thieves, there was no way I could outrun the Mach Pokémon.

"Wow, talk about overkill. I think my Zubat could probably take this kid down, and I haven't even gotten it to learn a decent Poison move yet," the Rocket said. Always with the Zubats, I didn't know about it back then but these days I wonder: seriously what is it with criminals and Zubat? At the time I barely even heard what they were saying, I was far more concerned with the 200 plus pounds of predator staring me in the face. From behind, I heard their leader proclaim that he would take care of me himself and to shut up, followed by some of the most chilling words I know.

"Garchomp, use Dragon Rage."

Now, you may or may not know much about the Dragon-type. They are somewhat hard to find, after all, and only a few trainers really specialize in them. So, you may not know Dragon Rage. Dragon Rage is a specialized Dragon-type technique. It can be used to finish off an opponent who is already weakened, but it never does damage that would be lethal to a healthy monster unless it is quite young or weak. Pokémon scientists have long since calculated a numerical scale to judge things like how healthy a Pokémon is, or how much damage their attacks do. When they incorporated these "stats" into their Pokédex technology, they found that Dragon Rage always does exactly 40 units of damage to a neutral target. I didn't know quite so much about it back then, and what I did know hardly even came to mind. I was distracted from both thinking and breathing by the stream of ethereal blue-tinged fire that suddenly erupted from the Garchomp's mouth in a stream that whipped and tore around me. Of course, Dragon Rage just _looks_ like fire. It doesn't produce heat or cause burns, nothing combusts when it is used and thus there is no smoke. Rather it is a manifestation of Dragon-type energy, and thus I burned without literally burning. While not normally lethal on the first shot, Dragon Rage is still a terrible thing to be struck with. It hurts. A _lot_.

As I lay spasming on the ground, trying to scream through a throat that felt scorched even though it wasn't, my skin blistered by the energy I had been sprayed with and seeming to writhe on my bones, the Garchomp stood over me. It once more loosed its cry, seemingly unsatisfied by what it had been allowed to do. But, it was clearly well trained, and waited obediently for orders from its trainer despite its desire to press its assault further. It gave me time to recover from the shock of the attack, if not from the pain. I tried to roll over onto my belly, where I could attempt to get to my feet. Before I could manage it, a foot with three sharp talons pinned me to the ground, threatening to tear at me if I struggled.

"Good girl Garchomp. So, what do you guys think? Should we kill the kid, or just take his Pokémon? I vote we kill him myself. No one knows our little group is in Hoenn at the moment. We're not planning to stay much longer, but still there's no sense letting him talk," the Cipher leader proclaimed, not noticing how his Garchomp cringed at being called a "good girl." Her dorsal and pectoral fins were ragged edged and torn, which is uncommon in females, and her horns were scratched and scuffed from impacts. As one would expect, she had been mistreated by her trainer.

"My Swalot is always hungry, if you'd prefer to keep everyone's hands and claws clean he'd be happy to swallow this kid whole," the Rocket put in her two cents, not seeming to care whether I lived or not, just being practical about it. The Aqua grunt looked unhappy, but kept his mouth shut. His team had been misguided, believing the ocean was superior to land and should swallow it up, but still thought themselves benevolent. He might have protested, had he been in a position to do so... or he might not have. Many of their followers were just as bad as the Rockets and their ilk, attracted more by the violence and terrorism than the supposedly benevolent goals of the leader. Personally, I believe he was just weak in the stomach.

As they discussed the wisdom of killing me, and the methods available to them to do so (with the Aqua seemingly reluctantly volunteering his Carvahna), something in my pocket moved. It was small at first, a gentle rocking that quickly swelled to violent thrashing. The Garchomp noticed it and seemed to grin. All things considered, it's no surprise that it had grown to love hurting its foes. Within a few seconds there was a metallic clack as hinges sprang open with a surge of energy, followed by my pocket being shredded as Palmette, enraged beyond any words I know, emerged from her Pokéball on her own and sprang upward to use Cut straight in the Garchomp's face.

The attack did so little damage it was hardly noticeable, but that's not what she had in mind. The dragon flinched backward from the unexpected motion, and by the time it realized she hadn't been able to really hurt it she was charging headlong at the crooked bastards who hurt me, eyes gleaming red. She hit the Aqua grunt first, pounding him flat to the ground even as she cast a leer at the Rocket, who froze up, feeling terror wash over her that lowered her defenses as the angry Treecko slammed into her, using her long held but seldom used Pound technique once again. Weak and frail as she was by the standards of Pokémon battles, against untrained human opponents she was a terror to behold.

She was in midair a moment later, clearly intending to use Cut to cleave the leader's armor, when the Garchomp took its talons off my chest. A fraction of a second later, Palmette was lying on the ground with a deep gouge in her chest where the dragon had protected its master with Dragon Claw. Greenish blood ran down her chest to pool at the ground, and a sharp scent like fresh mowed grass filled the air. But to my surprise, Palmette didn't stay down. She rolled to her feet, trying her best to growl, which came off as more of a snort, and took a swing at her foe. But the Garchomp was not surprised this time. In the time it took her to line up her strike and rush in, the dragon loosed its screeching warble and suddenly its fangs burst into flame as it clamped down on my Treecko's head with Fire Fang.

There was a flash of fire and smoke as the flames consumed Palmette whole. She tried to scream, but with her head clamped in the jaws of the Garchomp as they burned and billowed smoke and ash, she couldn't make a sound. So I did it for her, crying out in shocked denial even as the criminals who had come to take my friend away and maybe kill me began throwing curses at the Garchomp for taking the prize away from them. It was clear to me no Pokémon Center was going to fix my friend up this time. It was like watching an animate pile of leaves burn to ash, as glowing lines of orange flared up along the veins of chlorophyll that ran through her body and her leaf like skin flaked away.

"Fuck this. Garchomp, drop whatever's left of that thing. NOW!" the leader demanded, and Palmette fell to the ground burning and quite dead. What was left of her face turned to me... and I saw a mixture of pain, pride, and love there. She had done what Treecko and their evolved forms do, she protected her loved ones. Me. "Let's get on out of town, forget the kid. We were planning on jumping over to Sinnoh anyway, to see if any of the Galactics want to join up. Doesn't matter if this punk talks to anyone, especially in this town," he growled, walking over and giving me a thump in the ribs with one boot. "I doubt I'll see you again, brat. You're a weakling and a coward. But, if you feel sore? Come on over to Sinnoh sometime. I'd love to kill you, but only if you can put up a fight," he said, kicking a clod of dust into my eyes before turning and leaving, his followers falling in line behind him.

Sinnoh is cold, and getting colder. Some blame it on Teams Aqua and Magma, they who awoke the Pokémon of sea and land, Kyogre and Groudon. Their simultaneous appearance, and particularly the battle they waged against each other in Sootopolis City had such an effect on the weather that it could very well have disturbed the climate far away. I don't know or care why its so cold, myself. I just know that the moment I set foot in this region, the cold in my heart echoed the cold outside. In the months since Palmette was killed fighting to keep me alive, I'd come to terms with certain facts about the world and my own life. Part of which was that her death was my fault. I let one defeat, no matter how crushing it had been, cripple me. I couldn't battle, which meant I couldn't strengthen my beloved Treecko, nor capture any other Pokémon to act as her friends and backup. Looking back at her spirit, her rage and her willingness to fight... I think she could have taken that Garchomp down if she had been trained. Furthermore, the battle we lost that fateful day when she became my first Pokémon was my fault as well. I should have known better than to try and fight someone so far above me so soon, even if I did believe battle was a more gentle thing in those days. In hindsight, it was all clear. But, it wasn't my fault alone.

Three trainers, each former members of some of the most destructive organizations on the planet. A Rocket. An Aqua. And most hated of all, a Cipher. They share the blame with me. Had they not come along and attacked, my failure wouldn't have mattered. No... to say so tastes a lie even to my own lips. The Aggron that attacked my mother so many years ago would have killed her had my father kept his Pokémon weak and untrained. Their arrival was just the straw that broke the Numel's back, so to speak. Still, I hated them. Any number of other straws could have broken the metaphorical Numel's back, but those three caused a fatal break. One from which there was no chance of recovery. And on the day that I realized it, my fear of battle was gone. Their first mistake had been killing my best friend. Their second mistake was failing to do the same to me.

I went back to Twinleaf Town, hiring a guide with some of my savings since I lacked a Pokémon for the trip. Mom couldn't come with me this time, it was too close to a harvest. It took a long, loud argument, but I convinced Birch that I needed a new starter to avenge my Palmette. But this time, I took a Torchic. I gave him the name Spitpyre. I wanted him to be strong. To be deadly. The name fit, I chose it to call to mind spitting fury and the funeral pyres that fury would lead to. Though really he was far too cute for it to suit him at the time, I knew he'd grow into it.

We didn't stay in Littleroot for long. I had taken Palmette's ashes to Mount Pyre on the way south, and said goodbye to my mother before I ever left home. My business in Hoenn done, I set out for the Sinnoh region by ocean liner, using up most of money that had been saved back for me over the years. Mom didn't seem to mind, she understood my pain. And my rage.

I fought every Pokémon that dared attack during the long trip that followed. By the time I reached the destination I had in mind, Spitpyre had evolved for the first time, becoming a Combusken. Thus when I arrived in Veilstone City and walked into the gym of Maylene the Fighting-type specialist, he fit the criteria required to train there. Maylene was young, though not so young as she was when she was appointed Gym Leader. I found her slightly odd, it has been years since I met her yet she is seemingly still unaware of just how powerful she really is. After all, her personal team of Pokémon often trains by sparring with her directly. And sometimes they lose.

I chose Maylene for a reason, even as I trained and taught Spitpyre with her guidance, I was learning from Maylene. When I explained to her why I needed to be able to fight rather than relying solely on my Pokémon as most do, she took me under her wing at once... metaphorically. She's a tiny thing to be capable of knocking out a Hariyama with her bare hands. It was miserable, and many times I left the gym with bones close to cracking, covered in bruises, but I persevered. Eventually she decided I was good enough to be trusted with a weapon, and thus I shifted from bare handed training to working with a bokuto. From the way I used the technique she taught me, she felt I would do better with a sword than I did at hand to hand. She was right, my progress as a fighter skyrocketed the moment I took the bokuto in my hands.

Kenjutsu suited me as surely as fighting suited Spitpyre. As I turned 17, I found I was now over six feet tall, and my training with Maylene had put enough muscle on me to outweigh the Garchomp from the year before, if only by a bit. I could strike hard, and my lunges had range even Maylene's speed couldn't counter easily. Meanwhile, Spitpyre had gone through moves rapidly. Maylene often forced us to travel for training against Pokémon of types that he was weak against, such as Ground-types and Flying-Types, and especially Water-types. We suffered many a crushing loss, but unlike my first battle it did not cripple me. It only furthered my determination to grow strong, and Spitpyre reacted to my feelings. His flames burned hotter and longer, and in record time he had learned and discarded moves like Peck and Focus Energy, while learning and keeping Flamethrower and the powerful Double Kick technique.

A few months later, I defeated Maylene in combat for the first time. She had long since given up using a bokuto against me, finding me too much a natural in the ways of swordsmanship, and instead wore metal-backed gauntlets and greaves during our matches. This allowed her to use her martial arts prowess to the fullest even against an armed foe, I had most definitely impressed her to merit such precautions. Across the gym, Spitpyre crowed for my victory, even as he sparred with a wild Machoke Maylene had brought to the gym to test him. As we rested from our own training, the gym leader and I turned to watch, and I winced as the Machoke landed a Mach Punch with dizzying speed, knocking my Pokémon back. I was not allowed to call out advice or use items when Spitpyre was training in this way. She told me that he needed to be able to fight for himself, in case I was ever incapacitated. The Machoke was coming in low, its posture suggesting it intended to take hold of Spitpyre and launch him into the ground with the Vital Throw technique. Spitpyre evaded the attack by jumping upward, rising over its grasping hands, and then launched a Double Kick in midair. His right foot had just struck the Super Power Pokémon in the face, when his left foot suddenly burst into flame. It struck the Machoke in the chest with explosive force, and as Spitpyre landed a wave of fire rolled upwards over the Combusken. When it dissipated into a cloud of black smoke, there was no longer a Combusken standing before me. The Machoke briefly tried to rise, but fell back unconscious from its wound. Spitpyre threw back his head and unleashed the terrifying, deep pitched snarl of a Blaziken, celebrating both his victory and his evolution. With the addition of the exceptional Blaze Kick and Slash techniques to his arsenal, I knew our time with Maylene had come to an end.

We spent the next two years roaming Sinnoh at will. While I kept my ears and eyes open for signs of my quarry, I was not truly hunting them. Not yet. I wasn't ready, I needed more Pokémon on my side. A full team of six, all that is allowed under Pokémon League rules. Diverse types. That is what suited my new tastes, and as such I bought my very first batch of Pokéballs, something I had never had need of before. After experimenting, I found I vastly preferred the specialized Quickball model. Though I had become willing to battle, and had indeed grown to love the rush of it, the clash of Pokémon against each other and trainers pitting their will and skills against one another, I prefer to this day to do as little harm as possible to Pokémon I intend to keep. My first few tries were less than successful, it can be hard to hit a Pokémon with a ball. So I practiced, with the help of Spitpyre as a stand-in (though the balls had no effect on him so long as he had his original Pokéball, he made an excellent moving target). Once I could hit him reliably, I practiced doing it on the fly until I could reach into my pack, grasp the ball, and throw it accurately in a fraction of a second. I even earned one of my nicknames that way, among those who hire me to capture a Pokémon for them, some have called me Quickdraw.

I fleshed out my team slowly, experimenting with different Pokémon's skills for a time after they were caught to see if they matched my needs and preferences in battle before giving them a place on the team. Some, I even waited until I knew them fairly well before naming them. I challenged gyms as I went, as training, to build a reputation, and of course to help insure that my Pokémon both obeyed and would be able to use the HM techniques as needed without breaking League rules. My first success came before I learned the merits of the Quickball, I was able to pick up a Shinx using a normal Pokéball. I named him Lucky, since I caught him on the first throw. It didn't take long for him to earn his place on the team, while he was quite weak initially he grew fast and by the time I won my third badge he had evolved fully into a Luxray.

Although I built my active team slowly, that's not to say I was choosy with what I caught. My main team is fairly static, only altered for specific cases, but to this day I fling a Quickball at any new Pokémon I see at once. But, I did not then and still do not use most of them in battle. I instead sought out Pokémon from the wild, and eventually from my storage boxes, that fit what I wanted in a team and trained them appropriately.

Shortly after Lucky, I came across a wild Staravia. It was tough enough to take down Lucky with ease, since he knew no techniques utilizing his electrical powers at the time. It put up a good fight against Spitpyre as well, the Flying-type does do excellently against Fighting-types after all, but my partner was up to the task. I used every Pokéball I had on me before I got lucky with the Premiere Ball the Pokémart had given me to commemorate my first large purchase. The new addition also grew well, and was very useful when I returned to Veilstone to retrieve a badge from my teacher. After beating three out of the five Pokémon Maylene sent against me on her own, she became a Staraptor. She preened with cocky pride when she felled Maylene's last Pokémon, a Breloom. Feeling oddly humorous and impressed with her attitude, I named her Big Bird.

I found myself in need of a Water-type before long. Sinnoh lacks the water routes that so many must travel in the region of my birth, but still one must cross water without a bridge fairly often. Not to mention that none of my Pokémon were very well equipped to take out Fire-types. So we went hunting, but none of the numerous Water-types I came across really suited me. By chance, I came across a trainer in Sandgem town who wanted a Pelliper but hadn't been able to catch one. He offered to trade me a Sharpedo for one, and among the many Water-types I had encountered, Pelliper had appeared many times. The dual nature of the big predator appealed to me greatly, Water/Dark opened up a great many possibilities. It also kept the peace among the team, Spitpyre had been sullen each time we set out to find a good Water-type, but knowing his fighting abilities trumped the newcomer's dark abilities kept things balanced. Though the fear he inspired was muted somewhat by watching him balance on his ventral fin, bouncing to move about whenever we were on land, he still suited me for his gaping jaws with their rows of teeth. Most Water-types look at least a bit odd on land anyway. After some deliberation I decided to named him Bruce after the nickname of an old American movie's prop Sharpedo.

A few months later I was a five badge trainer, and taking a break from trainer battles of all kinds. Focused on my goals as I was, I never let it get in the way of treating my Pokémon right, and they needed some downtime after the savagery of battling Crasher Wake. The man seems a little strange, even for a wrestler, but his Pokémon can fight, especially the Buizel he sent at me. I needed some time off for myself as well, when he heard I had been taught by Maylene he decided to step down off his podium and take me on directly while the mons fought it out. Despite being trained by a girl strong enough to knock a Machamp for a loop, chokeholds and hammerlocks still hurt.

During our downtime I found myself at the Pokémon Mansion near Hearthome City, home of the infamous blowhard Mr. Backlot. Trainers around Sinnoh have long since caught onto his tendency to exaggerate the variety of Pokémon species that gravitate to his Trophy Garden, and his willingness to import them, even from other regions, for the sake of appearing honest. With some careful steering of the conversation it was with ease that I managed to have him all but hand me an Eevee. I snagged a male mere minutes after he "covertly" signaled his butler to release a handful of the fox-like Pokémon into the garden. The creature proved oddly hostile compared to Eevee's easy-going reputation. I decided to use a Luxury Ball in order to gain its trust more quickly. Now, Eevee itself doesn't fit my tastes very well, but I had a plan. I had recently been to Snowpoint City to take a badge from their Gym Leader Candice, a task made pitifully easy when you own a well trained Blaziken. While there, I had heard tales of Eevee evolving while in the general area in ways never recorded in other regions. And so, my newly acquired Pokémon did not remain an Eevee for long. I named the newly evolved Glaceon 'Scicle. Glaceon still doesn't seem to fit my tastes, as overall I prefer Pokémon that are powerful and terrifying to look upon, and all of the Eeveelutions, as they are called, are thought of by the masses as "cute." Hence the name, both a pun on ice and conjuring images of a sharp edged harvesting tool. He was taught from the start to crush Ground and Dragon-types, for the inevitable day when I would turn him loose against a certain Garchomp.

After besting Fantina and earning my seventh badge, I set my mind to completing my team. I had tried many different Pokémon in the sixth slot, but none of them really fit with the group. I had grown rather contemptuous of Bug-types, and though my fond memories of Palmette kept me from outright deriding them I had little respect for the common Grass-types as well. Ghost-types like those belonging to my most recent opponent appealed to me somewhat for the fear they could instill in their foes, but I found their moves unreliable for my style of battle. I didn't want to overload my team with any one type of Pokémon, so I avoided adding further examples of my existing team members' types to the mix. Growing frustrated, I journeyed to Sunnyshore and challenged Volkner, the so-called strongest Gym Leader of Sinnoh to deal with my frustrations. I quickly found that he deserved the title, it was my first real defeat in quite some time. Bruce and Big Bird barely put up a fight due to their disadvantages against his potent Electric-types. 'Scicle, being less well trained than the rest, didn't manage much better. Spitpyre managed to take down a Raichu, but was paralyzed by its natural static and fell to his Luxray. Lucky pulled out all the stops and brought us near a win, but then the Leader unleashed his Electivire on us. He congratulated me for doing so well, as it had been an exciting and close battle, but I had failed to gain a badge from him. It did, however, take the edge off my frustration and allowed me to think clearly. After a quick trip to the Pokémon Center to restore my team to top form, Big Bird carried us across the region and I hitched a ride to Iron Island.

I had been there once before, while training to battle the Steel-type specialist Byron in his nearby gym, but had not caught anything while I was there. A small accident in one of the tunnels cost me my pack, and a whole load of Pokéballs went with it. This time I was prepared when a Steelix burst from one of the tunnel's walls and attacked me. I grinned when it appeared, anticipating the addition of the Steel and Ground-type to my team in a single package. True, most Steelix trainers acquire them by trading Onix under the proper circumstances, but trading doesn't really fit my style. Much as I love having Bruce on the team, I still wished I had been able to catch him myself, face to face.

Despite my skill with quickdraw-throws, the beast managed to shatter the Quickball I used at the start of the fight, bursting out of the ball and glaring at me for the attempt. A long and difficult battle followed, since I didn't want to defeat the beast directly. Bruce, 'Scicle, and especially Spitpyre could have taken it out in one blow had I wanted to finish it, but Pokéballs don't register for capture under those circumstances. After a great deal of time using ineffective attacks to wear down the mighty serpent, a well placed Dusk Ball between the eyes brought her over to my side. Naming Steelix turned out to be difficult, I lacked inspiration for a time, but eventually I noticed that her jaw-ridges proved my new acquisition to be female and thus chose the nom-degure of Iron Maiden for her.

Volkner didn't do so well when I returned. Iron Maiden learned the Earthquake technique the very moment that I got her, I had held off on using the TM for the technique since acquiring it from a trainer on the route to Canalave during my first trip to that city. Poor kid felt he owed me after I rescued his Pichu from an attacking Luxio. After sailing back to Canalave, I decided to return to Sunnyshore on foot to better train my new team member. Having learned a _highly_ potent Ground-type move and battled many foes as we crossed the entire region, Maiden was more than strong enough to crush Volkner's entire team in one shot apiece. And thus, my team was complete.

To my dismay, this left me without an immediate goal. In all my time in Sinnoh, I had never found any indication of where my quarry might be found. Oh, there had been hints that perhaps they were still around, but corpses do not tell you where their killer might be found. And just because a man was found with wounds resembling Garchomp claws, or another found torn up by a Carvahna, did not mean for certain that the criminals I sought were involved in any way. Thus I filled my time training and acquiring my team, fighting and reveling in battle. I suppose I could have continued training and challenged the Elite Four, but I had no interest in the Championship. The cash prize for winning might have been useful, but that alone was not incentive enough for me. After all, assuming I won I couldn't spend my time hunting for the people I sought if I was stuck either standing in the Champion's room all day or flying back there every time someone made it to challenge the Elite Four. Even as I had journeyed, the news had reported that the standing Champ Lucas had given up his title in order to return to journeying and performing research for the region's greatest professor, Rowan. The former Champion, Cynthia, took her place back soon after. For a time, I was stumped, simply spending time renting a small residence in Canalave and journeying about to train with no concrete goal.

One night, my full team sat gathered around a small campsite I had chosen after a long day spent kicking around Scythers, Geodudes, and the occasional Psyduck or Roselia in the area around Route 210. Some were nearer the warmth than others of course, 'Scicle in particular stayed far from the camp fire Spitpyre had started for us and Bruce was being allowed to spend some time in a nearby stream. I was telling them stories about the ranch, and the farm in Verdanturf that followed it. The issue of Pokémon intelligence has never been fully nailed down by researchers, but it's clear the beasts can understand spoken words to one degree or another, after all they take verbal commands just fine in battle. Spitpyre in particular was used to this, I'd been telling him about Palmette since he was a hatchling so he would know why I pushed him so in training. Though he cannot speak, of course, the look in his eyes made me believe then and still believe now that he understands, and thinks of her as something of a sister he never knew. Eventually, as they usually did, the stories came to the men and woman we were searching for. My Pokémon stirred restlessly at the frustration I felt with my inability to find the enemy. I had spent so much time spreading my reputation in becoming an eight badge trainer specifically hoping the Cipher peon who had become their leader would know I had taken his challenge and come to me. Perhaps, I told them, we will go to the Pokémon League after all. Surely if they announce us as the new Champions of Sinnoh, he'd know? But no, the arrogant bastard probably didn't even remember me anymore. For me, the day he and his followers had come to Verdanturf and murdered my Treecko was the turning point of my life. For them, it had probably just been a Tuesday.

So, I reasoned aloud as my team looked at me with interest, we needed a different sort of notoriety. Only two things would really do, I decided. I could become a criminal like them, and wait for them to come around and offer me a place on their team. Of course, that was not an option I could live with. Or, I mused as a grin began to light my face, we could get a reputation for dealing with people like them. For dealing with _lots_ of unwanted problems, in fact. The police had always had issues when dealing with organized groups of criminals using Pokémon, local and international officers alike often found their training insufficient to the task. Gym Leaders officially dealt with problematic wild Pokémon in their area, but there was only so much they could do and there were always areas far from any gym to consider. But, what if there were someone with a strong, trained team of Pokémon working in those areas? Someone not officially sanctioned as a Gym Leader or by the police who would do what was needed... even if some rules got bent along on the way? It could supply income to live on while I hunted, gain me sources of information, and very possibly the Cipher bastard would decide to nip this new problem in the bud before it nipped him. And although it didn't occur to me until later, it would give me something to do once I caught those who wronged me.

First, I needed to prepare myself a bit, as I didn't really have the proper appearance to pull of my new scheme. While I had given much consideration to my Pokémon's fierce appearances when I rounded up the team, I'd been neglecting my own looks. I'd been living with the same three changes of scruffy old farmer's clothes for two years, and hadn't given much consideration to my hair beyond keeping it clean. I was also still carrying around my original bokuto, a plain, simple wooden sword that I used for training and occasionally for bopping unruly trainers over the head when they couldn't be content to let their Pokémon fight for them. I'd even dealt with a few Bidoof and Starly with it when I didn't want to bother my team with such weak Pokémon. It too was understandably a bit the worse for wear.

I flew over to Veilstone, home of the region's most successful department store. While they, like most shops, mostly sold Pokémon related merchandise (they know where the big money is), they did have clothing and such for sale for the human population. I decided to honor my teacher Maylene in my new look, and selected clothing from their Blackbelt line. Making up my wardrobe were several spare blood red gi's and black pants suited for a kedoka. I didn't feel I deserved a literal black belt, having not progressed to that level of skill in hand to hand combat, so I grabbed red obis, idly noting that they complimented the gis well. The sandals and foot wrappings that they offered didn't suit me, however, so I got a set of new combat boots from the clothing line sponsored by Kanto's famous Lt. Surge. Those clothes looked just right for what I wanted, but they were hardly warm enough for life in Sinnoh, especially for someone who grew up in the tropical Hoenn region. I needed some outer-wear.

I found a long black trench coat, specially made from the finest Tauros leather. Though it set me back a pretty penny, it fit perfectly and I found I was quite menacing to look at in it. It cost the entirety of my payouts from defeating Volkner and Byron, but it was worth it. After purchasing I even found it was a trainer's coat, with special pockets in the liner on the inside for Pokéballs, six on the left for my team and six on the right for empty balls. I transferred my team's tiny homes to their new resting places, loaded up the other pockets with empty balls to throw, and headed out. I was already cultivating something of a devilish image, so I next headed to a barber and had some work done on my hair and facial hair. My hair and beard were unkempt and scraggly to look at when I went in. I came out with long, neatly trimmed black hair tied in a tail, with a waxed moustache and pointed goatee. I looked in the mirror and grinned, almost wishing for pointed teeth to complete the image.

On my way out I stopped in at an electronics store, looking for a means of contact. My plan would often require me to be on the road, and I'd need a way to stay in touch. The designers at the Pokétch company hadn't quite managed to pull off a Pokétch App for that yet, nor had independent developers. Luckily, the folks who ran the store had started importing the PokéGear system that is so popular in Johto, so before long I had two PokéGizmos, one of which possessed a built in phone. The map system and radio were just bonuses. Registering my number, I headed out.

Pleased with my current progress, I walked over to the gym, needing to see Maylene. My teacher hardly recognized me, but welcomed me in. She had just returned from the Battleground in the Survival Area on an island a goodly ways to the north. I'd never been there at the time, it's somewhat hard to get an invitation. She took me to the quiet area behind the main gym, where her current students and their Pokémon were busy training, and we sat down for a cup of green tea while she heard the full story of my exploits, occasionally stopping me to express her pride. Angry and destructive youth that I was, it was pleasant to know I had made my teacher happy as I popped open my badge case to show off my conquest of Sinnoh's gyms. She was a bit displeased that I had not elected to add any Fighting-types to my team beyond Spitpyre himself, but mollified somewhat when I demonstrated Big Bird's mastery of the Close Combat technique.

Eventually the conversation turned to more recent doings. She had gone to the Battleground to get some practice in, no serious challengers had come in since I had gotten my badge from her more than a year prior. Gym Leaders keep multiple teams of similar Pokémon for dealing with challenges of all levels (though they typically use weaker Pokémon during any trainer's first visit). When there is a lack of challengers that require the use of their stronger teams, most gym leaders get restless and go out to find a challenge. Ever since it opened back in Team Galactic's time, the place Sinnoh leaders go during such dry spells is the Battleground.

When her end of the conversation wound down, I informed her of the main reason for my visit, and asked her if she knew any good sword-smiths. Looking over at the ancient katanas crossed on the wall behind her, which she inherited from her mother if I recall, she asked me why I needed such a thing. So, I told her what I was planning.

She was resistant to the idea at first. She had hoped I would not take my quest beyond those who had directly wronged me up to that day. I eventually convinced her that I had never intended to use my new weapon on anyone unless I had to, though I also had to remind her that my bokuto could be just as lethal if I wanted it to be. With that, she directed me to a man in Celestic Town who still made swords in the old style. I flew over on Big Bird to visit this man, who went by the nickname Razor. I liked him at once, and not just for the name. He was a kindly middle aged man, the type of trainer who refers to himself as a Veteran. His manner of dress was similar to my own, though with a white gi and red pants with an actual black belt. Despite being an older man, he clearly deserved the belt, the way he moved and the amount of muscle he'd kept as he aged showed he could use the weapons he made. As we talked, he informed me that, although his swords and daggers were mostly ceremonial or decorative in purpose, he never made anything that could not be used as it was intended. It made sense to find someone so dedicated to keep an all but dead profession alive in Celestic Town, the people there are famed for keeping the past alive in many ways.

Once again, the price was large. Quality work is not cheap. I was a bit light on cash at the time, so he kindly agreed to take half up front and half on completion, in order to allow me time to go out and earn the rest. Haggling complete, we discussed materials. He needed a new shipment of coal for his forge, for one thing, which I promised to supply. He was also in need of iron, which I was able to supply at once. Iron Maiden happened to be molting some battered plates from her tail, which we gathered up. That actually got some of the price knocked off, as there was far more than a single blade's worth of metal. He also needed strong but flexible wood, and a small segment of springy vine to secure the blade and handle together properly. He personally favored Tangela vine for this, and as I wanted his best work I resolved to find this as well. Finally, he needed a section of Sharpedo or Carvahna skin as part of the grip.

While he got to work with the iron, I took off for Pastoria. The Great Marsh is a biological preserve, of course. You can't just go around slashing off bits of the wildlife. In fact, you're not allowed to battle at all once you go inside. But, for a nominal fee, one can catch as many as one likes in there, so long as your supply of Safari Balls holds up. Which always seemed odd, to me, but hey, if it works it works. Six Safari Balls and a lot of cursing and throwing bait and mud later, I walked out with a Tangela that was happy to supply a vine of the size required. With that, Big Bird took off for Roark's gym down in Oreburgh.

I offered a rematch first. I needed the cash, and payouts are always bigger when a Gym Leader has to use their upper tier teams in a battle. He didn't fare any better while using a highly trained Rampardos than he did the first time, when he'd sent a low level Cranidos at me. Bruce took it down with the Aqua Jet technique, and the rest of his team didn't fare much better. Once he got over his shock at seeing his "sturdy Pokémon" beaten so easily (why are they always so surprised when they lose to Pokémon that have type advantage? Gotta remember to ask Maylene sometime) he was happy to negotiate a sale of coal in the amounts required.

The Sharpedo skin was a bit of a problem. Sharpedo don't shed the way Steelix do, and the beasts are rare in Sinnoh, hence my trading to get Bruce. I felt a bit bad about it, but I wound up acquiring a piece of preserved skin from a recently deceased Carvahna that was being interred by its owner at a Pokémon graveyard, which I managed thanks to Big Bird flying over as a distraction. I didn't feel too bad, overall, for two reasons: the crying trainer was apparently pleased to see a Flying-type at the funeral due to some superstition about his Pokémon's spirit ascending to Heaven, and because I wound up bleeding after snatching the skin I needed. Rough skin hurts.

After a quick stop off at a local forest to harvest the white oak that had been recommended, it was a quick jaunt back to Razor's place in the deep fog that seems to perpetually hang over the area surrounding Route 210. The following wait was not so quick. It took him a month to finish the sword, with an additional trip to Flororoma Town for me to pick up a particular cotton fiber they produce there that he had forgotten to list during our initial haggling. I also hit a Pokémon Center to pull aWurmple out of storage for some of its silk. These he needed to make the wrap for the handle, as directly gripping the Carvahna skin, even filed down somewhat, would be an exercise in masochism.

When it was completed, Razor presented me with a sword that was all the more beautiful because it was, in a word, deadly. It boasted a 28 and one half inch blade, measured for my height, and though polished he had forged the sword to have a dark sheen. The tsuba, or hand guard if you prefer, was a perfect circle of oddly scarlet colored steel, with the common logo of a Pokéball pattern etched into it. One look at Razor told me he would not tell me how that was done. The Carvahna-skin I'd supplied had been red, so he dyed the cotton wrap black before adding it on to match my own chosen color scheme. Finally, he supplied an iron saya (that's a sheathe or scabbard, if you didn't know) that he had somehow formed from the extra metal Iron Maiden had supplied. It too was a deep scarlet, and when sword was put to saya and slipped through my obi the weight felt perfect.

Tools and wardrobe now in order, I thanked Razor and supplied his payment before departing to enact the next part of my plan. It was time to do some advertising. I had business cards printed up, black and red like the rest of my gear. The top half of each card was black with red lettering, while the bottom was reversed. Though I've changed the wording on them over time that much has always remained the same. I kept most of them in storage, in the possession of my Pokémon, but kept a large stack on me at all times in my coat pockets. I didn't bother leaving them around at first, being an unknown factor to most people and all. So I found lodging in Eterna City, and rented a small office in what was once a Galactic HQ. on the north side of town. Then, I headed out to do good deeds of a sort.

I fought wild Pokémon that were attacking trainers too weak to protect themselves. I found criminals, small time though they might have been compared to my chosen prey, and beat them senseless before delivering them to local police forces. From time to time I donated Pokémon from storage to kids who couldn't travel to catch one of their own, or took on trainers who wanted to get the hang of battle but didn't live near a gym and didn't have faith in the wild Pokémon to play nice (nice here meaning non-lethal, I made sure they knew I wouldn't go easy on them so they wouldn't learn how rough it is the way I did). And with each of them, I left a card. Eventually I started getting a reputation for the work I did, getting calls on the PokéGear from those I had helped before and those to whom word of mouth had spread. Only then did I start leaving cards on display in PokéMarts all across the region.

I'd meet most clients in my office, though I was pleased to fly out to their location if travel was difficult for them. Though if I took up whatever job they wanted done, I did add on a small additional fee for those consultations, whereas consulting in the office was free. After about a year in business, the police even started calling me up and agreeing to pay a bounty on certain criminals. They didn't want it known that they were asking for my help, so I was usually contacted by an unofficial liaison from the International Police, and he was normally in disguise. Quite often the bounties were placed on members of the old villainous teams, less often those trying to start a new one. It was then I knew that eventually, I _would_ catch up with the Cipher peon and his buddies. Eventually. After the police started hiring me, it wasn't much onger till I started getting calls from abroad, with word having spread as far as Kanto and Johto of my services.

I journeyed back to Hoenn several times for work, once even taking on what I think was the Mightyena pack that had killed my father. It was done at the behest of the old ranch's owners, and I gave them several opportunities to flee, but Norman wasn't happy about it anyway so I wound up beating his Vigoroth and Slaking senseless. I travelled to Johto to drive away a large group of Jynx that had caused the entire population of Blackthorn City to begin shaking their hips and dancing against their will. I once took a mission in Kanto at the request of Elite Four member Lorelai and Professor Oak himself, providing temporary security at a new Lapras Preserve they had set up to protect the gentle beasts and breed them back to a healthy wild population. I was asked to keep poachers out while permanent security was finalized, and I did so with extreme prejudice.

It's been a fair while since I started this business, as the ever filling file cabinet full of job records shows. I feel I'm getting closer, hints are coming in more often of criminals matching the description of my prey. Police were able to provide the name of the Rocket from a prior arrest, so she's my top priority right now. Once her ever hungry Swalot swallows a ball of fire whole, I'm sure she'll give up the location of her friends. We'll say pretty please.

So now, I'm hunting them in earnest. Whenever I'm not on a job, I spend my days tracking them down. Soon, I'll yank the helmet off that peon and make sure he knows that "weak and cowardly" kid from Hoenn remembers him. With my mood being what it is, I changed my business cards for what I think is the final time this week. I'd always had a hard time deciding what to call myself, what "class" of trainer am I? I'm no Ace Trainer, nor am I a Pokémon Breeder, Veteran, Hiker… what do you call yourself when you're not just a normal trainer, but no class that is known seems to fit. This week I figured it out, my anticipation of the battles to come seemed to make it clear. It seemed obvious, once I considered it in this light. PokéMarts, Pokéballs, PokéGear, Pokétch… it's what we as a society do, we put the syllable "Poké" in front of whatever something is. So I put "Poké" in front of what I do. With that one simple change, they're exactly what I want to see now, and I hope some grizzled warrior in mismatched Cipher armor is looking down at one and remembering a dying Treecko. And imagining death coming for him. Somewhere, I hope he and whoever is with him sees this and realizes who they belong to. Realizes and despairs.

PokéMercenary Devil

Wild Pokémon fought or captured.

Criminals apprehended.

Security.

Advice.

Rates negotiable.

Call now for free consultation.

That's me. The world's first PokéMercenary. I'm no assassin, though sometimes what gets in my way does end up dead. I won't break legs for bookies, or if you own a game corner and the customers are cheating, but Arceus help you if you owe _me_ anything. I'll take any cause I think is worth taking, even if it means marching off to war, and I'll only charge you what I think the job is worth (plus expenses). And if you're an Ex-Rocket, Magma, Aqua, Galactic, or especially _Cipher_ and haven't gotten the message that what you're doing is a bad idea yet? On day I'll find you. _We'll_ find you. And when we do? We'll destroy you.


End file.
